


fake it til you (can't) make it

by Emeka



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Self-cest, or something like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23390179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Romeo goes a step further to take Jesse's affections.
Relationships: Jesse/Romeo the Admin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	fake it til you (can't) make it

"If you won't be my friend, I'll _make_ you behave," his own voice says to him as he barely leaves unconsciousness, in a tone that almost makes it unrecognizable. It is hard-pressed and straining for quiet with an uneven edge of venom. "And I'll make you only mine."

That tone prompts Jesse to resist before the words themselves sink in, but his limbs only pull so far before they hurt at the more delicate junctures of wrist and ankle. The haziness of his vision deepens with panic, his heart sickeningly thuds--he forces himself still; harder struggling will probably just make him hurt himself. They feel like cuffs.

"The hell?" he croaks, wriggling his wrist to see. Well, hear. It sounds like metal jingling against wood and from somewhere beyond his feet, he hears a laugh, his and not-his.

“All you ever thought about was your reputation, your _friends_ ,” that voice says, coming softly closer. A very familiar hand comes into view at the bed’s foot, just beyond Jesse’s feet. The fingers spread like a spider readying to spring, before the heel presses into the mattress, supporting the shift in weight to add a knee. “Did it cross your mind even for a second how vulnerable your body was, even all alone? Did you think of it stripping? Bathing?”

Jesse growls reflexively as the realization hits, feet kicking immediately in an attempt to push his body up to the headboard. “Admin!”

But his soles skid over the sheets and another hand grabs his ankle, pinning it, the first grabbing his other as he fights through the stubborn haze to kick. He is pulled flat and taut, horizontal, pulling again on his wrist, metal biting but distantly; his own body and face approaches closer. 

“Did you ever think of me discovering you, Jesse?” it asks, thick, like early morning but more purposeful. “Did you ever think of your body touching itself with someone else at the helm?”

The question hangs in the air. It takes longer to sink in, the implications of it, and with a strange feeling of absurdity Jesse’s face heats. “Wha...” It’s a violation of his privacy probably but he’s not sure whether to think of it as sexual harassment or anything more serious. It _hadn’t_ , actually, any of those things, and ideally he’d like to go on that way.

 _He has you cuffed to a bed and is asking you creeper questions_ , his mind helpfully points out. _It’s probably going to be, like, a thing_.

“Just look,” he says firmly, like he’s pointing out something to a small child, because thinking of it that way is the only way to keep his voice from shaking. “We can still be friends. Water under the bridge, right? I’ll play all the games you want--”

“I’m done with friends. Done with games. Except,” Romeo adds, his voice—Jesse’s voice, though he barely recognizes it now—turning low and smooth and hard, almost crooning except that venom, “the one I’m going to play with you.”

Jesse does not scream, or offer more than an undignified yelp when he starts grabbing at the band of his pants, and the fasteners to his suspenders. He still wriggles as hard as he can (which becomes not much when Romeo sits on his shins) but noise is serious, an acknowledgement of how bad this situation is getting, hurtling towards a thing entirely unknown, mysterious, and removed from his own five minutes in the shower.

“ _Jesse, Jesse, Jesse_. I’m going to own every part of you for the rest of your life.” His expression, a mockery of ardency, somewhat resembles the one Jesse makes in the mirror when his hair is looking exceptionally swell. “You’ll have the honor of living above bedrock with me, too.”

Pants come down and underwear right with it in one bold swoop to the mid-thigh. Too late to be shy about it, if Jesse accepts even half of what been insinuated here, but his legs still struggle fruitlessly to pull up over the soft worm of his penis.

“Pathetic,” Romeo remarks. “But I know already what you look like all, eh, excited... and I don’t need you to enjoy this. Maybe it makes it even better if you don’t. For now.”

What a strange thing it is, to see his own face, button nose and green eyes, leering over him, to see his own erect cock pulled from the zipper on an identical pair of jeans. When Romeo must sit up to lower Jesse’s pants further down his legs he sees his chance to struggle more, to be free at least of the immediate danger even though he’d just be stuck here without a way to get his arms free. He is strong, but the strength inside that of the shell fashioned to look like him is greater; Romeo handles him as easily as a baby kicking on a changing table. His thighs are pulled, held, apart with little trouble. Well, big trouble for him. But as much as he tries he feels like a bug pressed into place.

The heat of his (own) groin against his ass throws him into an emotional, mental frenzy: one his body is unable to express. Panic tightens even his throat close. All that it seems he can do is close his eyes, so that at least he does not need to—see.

The pain itself is perhaps not so bad as other things he’s felt in his journeys, though the intimacy of it throws it into starker relief than any he has felt before.

Something wet squeezes out and pricks under his eyelashes.

"You never even considered I could hurt your friends like this too, did you?" Romeo asks, and with a tone of bewildered hurt, Jesse replies _why would I_?

Not everyone is a pervert like you, he continues, before a finger against his lips hushes him.

"It's a wonder you've survived this long, you're so naive." His voice is affectionate. It sounds like the way Jesse used to speak to Reuben.

It adds to the stomach-churning pain stabbing into his guts, and is kept from exploding up his throat only with the thought of what consequences there could be for barfing right now. Then again, maybe it would be just another thing to taunt him with. A great warrior, can't even keep his lunch down while being raped.

It's a temptation he doubts many would be able to resist, though compounding his uneasiness is the quality of their voices mixed together and not being sure which is his. The tightness in his chest and throat tells him it's the choppy breaths, the gritted-out noises, but the longer the violation goes on the more they weave together with sighs of pleasure and exertion, and mumbled mocking praises until he wonders if those _aren't_ his.

His head swims behind the darkness of his eyelids. For just an instant as Romeo presses tight to him he knows what's going to happen before it does: the sudden spurt of wet into his brutalized insides. The tension of their bodies increases as they shift, Romeo leaning so close in every sense, from his body heat to the waft of breath to the smell of sweat, Jesse can as good as see him right before his eyes.

"You're going to be a fun toy," his own voice whispers to him. "I think we'll be able to play this game a long time."


End file.
